


The Morning After

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Tower Time AU, M/M, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 17:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: Clint Barton groaned pitifully and buried his face further into his pillow.  He was never moving again.  His stomach was staging an insurrection against the rest of his body and his head felt like several grenades had gone off in his brain.  Possibly simultaneously.  And some sort of slime monster had definitely crawled inside his mouth.Ugh.  Hangovers sucked balls.Clint wakes up with a hangover.  Luckily his husband is on hand with painkillers, coffee and cuddles.





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Renner’s new hair (sort of) and this post that was going around tumblr: http://embraceyourfandom.tumblr.com/post/171294801263/clint-i-wasnt-that-drunk-last-night-tony-you
> 
>  
> 
> Also inspired by a bunch of enablers who know exactly who they are. <3333

Clint Barton groaned pitifully and buried his face further into his pillow.  He was _never moving again_.  His stomach was staging an insurrection against the rest of his body and his head felt like several grenades had gone off in his brain.  Possibly simultaneously.  And some sort of slime monster had _definitely_ crawled inside his mouth.

_Ugh_.  Hangovers _sucked balls_.

Clint was also pretty sure he was naked except for one sock, which led to some interesting questions he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers to.  “I’m ne’er drinkin’ with Thor _again_ ,” he muttered.  “Or _Valkyrie_.  She’s th’ _worst_.”

“You know, a lesser man would point out that you’ve said that before,” an amused voice replied.

There was the soft clink of ceramic hitting the bedside table, and the mattress dipped as Clint’s husband sat down next to where Clint was still sprawled.  A few seconds later, one of Phil’s broad hands slid into the longer part of Clint’s hair and scratched gently.  Clint’s spine melted and he relaxed into the bed, some of the pounding agony in his head receding.  “Tha’s nice,” Clint said.

Phil chuckled softly.  His fingers moved to play with the short fuzz at Clint’s temple, and if Clint could have purred, he would have.  Clint hadn’t been sure of his new haircut.  Natasha had bullied him into a barbershop after one of their more recent Avengers callouts -- one of the few where Clint hadn’t gotten more than a few bruises and scrapes -- and he’d ended up with a kind of fauxhawk undercut thing and strict instructions that if he buzzed it all off again, Natasha would kick his ass.  Clint had scowled at the time, but then he’d discovered that his new haircut tempted Phil to touch his hair a lot more than he used to, so Clint had elected to keep it.

(Anything that encouraged Phil to touch him was a Good Thing.)

Clint’s hair was now long enough on top that Clint could knot it into a tiny bun -- and had to, really, to stop it falling across his forehead and into his eyes.  Stark teased him about it, of course, but it was no worse than the jibes about his archery, or the comments about being Phil’s boytoy.  Besides, if Stark got too annoying, Clint only had to refer to Stark’s beard as an ‘evil twin goatee’ and that shut him right up.  Particularly if Rhodey was in the room.

“I also have coffee, water and aspirin if you need them,” Phil said, because Clint’s husband was _awesome_ and too good for Clint, seriously.

(Except, Clint had been smart enough to put a ring on that, so Phil was stuck with him forever now.)

Clint hummed, arching up towards Phil’s magic fingers.  “I might need pants, too,” he said around a large yawn.

Phil chuckled again.  “I can help with that,” he said.  “Although, I should also point out that the way you flung your clothes around the room as you stripped while belting out _Hot Stuff_ last night was terribly endearing.”

Groaning at the combination of Phil’s fingers disappearing and also Phil getting up and _walking somewhere else_ , Clint cracked open an eye.  “Phil?”

“I’m just getting your pants,” Phil replied.

Clint blinked and when he could finally focus, he squinted in Phil’s direction.  His bedroom was wonderfully dark, the blackout curtains still pulled tight at the window and only a lamp casting dim light.  Clint’s clothes were strewn across the room just like Phil had said, and Phil had pulled open the wardrobe to grab Clint’s favourite pair of pajama pants from the shelf.  Phil himself also wore worn grey pajama pants and a white t-shirt, which suggested he wasn’t going anywhere for awhile, and Clint was pathetically grateful.

Phil walked back over to the bed and smiled down at Clint.  Clint stared back because _dammit_ , Phil hadn’t shaved and his jaw was covered in stubble.  That was _unfair_ because Clint could never resist Phil when he was scruffy.  As if sensing where Clint’s thoughts had gone, Phil arched an eyebrow.  “Do you want help with your pants, or do you think you can manage by yourself?” Phil asked.

Clint groaned.  He did a quick check of his body and while some of the pain had faded, his bladder was becoming a priority.  “I think I can manage,” he said.

“Okay.”  Phil leant down to brush a lock of hair off Clint’s forehead with gentle fingers before pressing a kiss to it.

Gathering his courage, Clint untangled himself from the sheets and clamboured to his feet, ignoring the way Phil was valiantly trying to hide his laughter.  So Clint had the grace of a baby giraffe when he was hungover.  At least he was standing up now.  He staggered over to the bathroom and somehow managed to pull on his pajama pants and also get rid of his lone sock.  The sock even made it into the laundry basket on Clint’s third attempt.

(That had _nothing_ to do with aim, and was more a result of his lack of coordination and how lone socks were tricksy things that played devious tricks on Clint.)

After pissing, Clint lingered enough to brush his teeth, too, just in case he could get Phil to kiss him later.  Maybe after Clint had drunk several cups of coffee and swallowed some of that aspirin.

_Ugh_.  That’s what Clint got for drinking Asgardian booze.

Clint staggered back out into the bedroom to find Phil had slipped back into bed.  He was propped up on most of the pillows, going over something on his Starktab, his black, thick-framed reading glasses on his nose.  As always, heat curled through Clint’s stomach, because Phil in glasses was _unfairly_ hot.  Especially Phil in glasses with _stubble_.  There was just something about the normally sleekly besuited Agent Coulson when he was soft and a little rough around the edges that pushed all of Clint’s buttons.

Of course, Clint didn’t possess the fortitude to do anything about that right now.  Maybe later.

Instead, Clint crawled into bed and prodded Phil’s arm until he lifted it enough for Clint to slide underneath.  Clint ignored Phil’s fondly exasperated sigh, and rested his head against Phil’s shoulder, half sprawling across Phil’s chest.  Phil shifted until they were both comfortable, and because he was an amazing husband, passed over first the aspirin and a glass of water, and then Clint’s mug of coffee.

Clint relaxed as he waited for the painkillers and caffeine to kick in, snuggling closer into Phil’s side and stretching up to press a kiss to the hinge of Phil’s jaw.  Phil huffed out a soft laugh and gently carded his hand through Clint’s hair, his gaze never leaving the Starktab screen and whatever AAR he was reading.  Letting his eyes slide shut, Clint drifted, soothed by Phil’s hand in his hair and the comforting presence of the man he loved.

<*>

When Clint blinked awake from his nap, he felt significantly better, and Phil had moved on from reading AARs to doing a sudoku puzzle one-handed.  The other hand was still toying absently with Clint’s hair.  Clint hummed happily.

Phil smiled and glanced down at him.  “Feel better?”

“Mmm, much,” Clint replied, stretching a little, but loathe to leave Phil’s warm embrace.

“Good,” Phil said, the corner of his mouth tilting up into a smirk.  “You’re going to need a clear head when Stark sees you.”

Clint tensed.  “Why?” he asked warily.

Even as he spoke, part of Clint wanted to take the words back.  There were no good answers to that question.  Phil’s very obvious amusement was not helping matters, either.

“Well, you were rather drunk last night,” Phil said.

Clint scowled.  “I wasn’t _that_ drunk,” he grumbled, even if his head disagreed.

Phil snorted.  “Oh, you were, but it was endearing,” he said.  “As was the utterly ridiculous flirting.”

Okay, Clint could deal with that.  It wasn’t unusual for him to flirt outrageously when he’d been drinking, and that Asgardian booze had really knocked him out.  “With you, right?” he said, checking the details, because he’d had an embarrassing crush on Captain America when he was a kid.

“Yes, with me,” Phil said, still grinning.

Clint snuggled down into Phil’s arms as Phil set aside his sudoku puzzle.  “Well, that’s all right, then,” Clint said.  “You are my husband.”

“I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” Phil said.

Clint groaned.   _Oh shit_.  “Okay, hit me with it,” he muttered into the fabric of Phil’s t-shirt.

“You asked me if I was single,” Phil said, and the thread of laughter in his voice almost made Clint want to look up so he could see it reflected in Phil’s blue eyes.  His embarrassment, however, urged him to keep his face hidden.  “And then you, well, you cried when I said I was married.”

“Fuck me,” Clint groaned.

“You didn’t even let me explain that I was married to _you_ ,” Phil continued.  “I found you about an hour later, on the couch, eating ice cream.  Also, I’m pretty sure Stark recorded it.”

Clint groaned again.  He was _never_ leaving his apartment.

“I’m afraid I did, Agent Coulson,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said from the speakers in the ceiling.

Pushing his face into the gap between Phil’s shoulder and neck, Clint ignored the heat burning his cheeks and the tips of his ears.  He’d done worse things with witnesses -- and Natasha was very quick with a cell phone camera -- but this definitely ranked in his top five Worst Moments.

“If it helps at all,” Phil added, “I’m pretty sure Steve was drunker than you were.  Valkyrie, Rhodey and Tony all somehow convinced him to play strip poker and Steve owes Valkyrie three pairs of underpants now.”

Clint frowned.  “How does that even work?”

Phil smirked.  “It works because Steve is not so secretly a reckless little shit and Valkyrie is a sneaky, sneaky woman,” he said.

Well, she was a literal valkyrie.  Clint shrugged and snuggled closer to Phil.  “So what you’re saying is that J has embarrassing footage on almost everyone and I shouldn’t worry about it?” he said.

Phil glanced down at him.  “You could think of it that way, yes.”

Clint groaned.  “You’re horrible,” he muttered.

Grinning, Phil leaned down enough to press a brief kiss to Clint’s lips.  “There, that should help you deal with the injustices of the world for now,” he teased.

“Uh uh,” Clint said, pulling Phil back in for another deeper kiss.

By the time Clint pulled back again to breathe, he and Phil were panting and Phil had both hands in his hair.  Phil’s glasses were also askew, his eyes dark and his face flushed, and really, how was Clint supposed to resist _that_?

“You are incorrigible,” Phil informed him.

Clint shrugged.  “You knew I was a ridiculous mess of a man when you married me.”

Phil gifted him with another soft kiss.  “I did,” he said with a theatrically overblown sigh.

Rolling his eyes, Clint poked Phil in his stomach, which was only just starting to get a little soft.  Not that Clint minded.  Phil caught Clint’s finger just as Clint opened his mouth.  “Before you complain, _yes_ ,” Phil said, shooting Clint a reproving look.  “Of course I’ll help you get revenge on Stark.”

Grinning madly, Clint swooped in to kiss the living daylights out of Phil.  “I love you a ludicrous amount, you know that, right?” he said.

Phil smirked back.  “I know.”

 

End.


End file.
